


Tomorrow

by Vizkopa



Category: One Piece
Genre: F/M, Reader Insert, op
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-18 07:34:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3561467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vizkopa/pseuds/Vizkopa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Tomorrow will come. And the day after. And the day after that."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tomorrow

A light breeze tousled your hair, bringing with it the smell of salt and sea, and the calls of the seagulls that circled overhead, their keen eyes on the rolling waves and the meal they would find beneath them. You curled your bare toes in excitement, letting them sink into the cool sand under your feet. _He’s back!_

It was not long before the sails of the great ships came into view, peeking over the rim of the horizon. You watched them come, a familiar feeling spreading in your chest. You grinned widely when you sighted that familiar blond head at the bow.

“Marco!” you called, waving energetically.

But something was wrong.

Your grin faltered as they grew nearer. A dark aura hung above the heads of the crew, bearing down on them like a great weight. A low keening filled the air, almost like lyrics made to accompany the song of the crashing waves – a song of sorrow and loss.

_Oh no…_

A flash of red caught your eye from afar, and your gaze was drawn to the ship that sailed amongst the fleet, the Jolly Roger on its flag instantly recognizable. Red-Hair Shanks. Your eyes narrowed. _What is he doing here?_ And suddenly you understood.

The war was over.

The time had come to bury the dead.

You watched in silence as they unloaded the bodies. Shanks carried the smaller form himself, a look of grim determination on his face. Marco aided in transporting the larger. The glance he offered you was one of such pain you felt your own heart break. 

And so the grim procession made its way forward across the sand, up the hill to where the cold earth awaited them. The ceremony was short and informal, yet in that short space of time the ground was watered with a thousand tears. 

You approached the grave markers, a wreath of cherry blossoms in each hand, and placed them at the site. Loose petals drifted on the breeze and out onto the crowded shore. You turned to Marco an offered him a sad smile, reaching up to cup his stubbled cheek. It was free from tears, but you could tell it was taking all his strength just to hold them back. You brushed away one that had escaped with the pad of your thumb, then slipped away, leaving him to mourn with the others.

When night had fallen, he stood alone before the silhouettes on the hill. Shanks had left after paying his last respects. The others had filed away one by one in search of a tankard or a woman in which to drown their sorrows. You approached hesitantly.

“Marco?” you said softly. He did not acknowledge you. “Marco, it’s late. It’s been a long day, you need to sleep.”

“How can I possibly sleep?” he choked. “My world was shattered in a matter of hours. How do I know tomorrow will still be there when I wake up?”

You placed a gentle hand on his arm and turned him to face you. You cupped his face as you had earlier. This time, his cheeks were damp.

“I promise you, it will be.”

You kissed him long and soft and when you pulled back his eyes were shut tight, silent sobs racking his body. He sank to his knees in the sand before you, and you went with him, holding him in your arms. The grit beneath you still held the heat of the day, though it did little to ease the pain of the last twelve hours.

“Tomorrow will come. And the day after. And the day after that,” you whispered, holding him against you, letting your warmth wash over him. “The world is not gone – it’s still here, it’s still spinning. Your heart is still beating and so is mine. I promise you, we’re not going anywhere.”

“They weren't just my Captain and my crew mate – they were my family, my father and brother torn away from me by the government’s sick delusions of justice. How is that justice, [Name]?”

He pulled back to look up at you, voice thick with despair.

“It’s not,” you admitted sadly. You pulled him into another tight embrace and closed your eyes, listened to his laboured breath and anguished cries.

“It’s not justice at all.”


End file.
